Birthday Drink
by Mord5ith
Summary: AU. She... a dancer who doesn't dance. He... a doctor who can't save lives. Her birthday. A sleazy bar. A true story. A strange meeting. A funny outcome. And misterious sexual orientations. IchiRukia


Hi! This B-day mood really got me. The 17th was mine! *does happy dance*. I'm of age!!! 18!!! *keep dancing.*

However, my computer doesn't work, so I'm using my fiancé one. I don't know what to do, so I decided to write something. I know it'll be bad. So... sorry!

* * *

The girl swallowed another glass of Whiskey. She was not drunk yet. Today was her birthday, even if nobody could have guessed because of the air of deep sadness around her.

But she was celebrating. In her own way.

People were usually happy on their birthday. Or scared, because they don't want to grown up. They don't want to get old. And loose their youth and the happiness and lightheartedness that comes with it. Or their excited. Or hopeful for the coming year, maybe longing for the day people will start to treat them as adults and not children. Sometimes people were frustrated and angry at themselves, because another year had passed, and they hadn't achieved their goals, yet.

Rukia thought at her birthday like a memorial day. The day she could just stop. Stop worrying, stop moving, stop working, stop caring.

Today it was just her and her memories. And her Whiskey.

Every 14th January, she thought about all the thing she's done in her life. Every good deed, every sin, every lost friend and gained relatives. Everything.

She smiled bitterly in her glass. These last years has taken and heavy toll on her.

She's spent her childhood like a street rat. Stealing, robbing, sleeping in the cold, starving for days. Sometimes an orphanage took her in, but she was always too much proud and too much of a rebel to stay there.

She ran away. A lot. However, it wasn't like people were looking for her, anyway.

Then, finally, on her birthday, five years ago, she decided it was time for her to get a job, to rent a flat and maybe get some schooling. And she bragged her best friend with her, 'cause she really couldn't stand the thought of him dieing in some dirty alley, or getting high until he overdose, like the rest of their little street gang.

Ironically, he fit in more than her, even if it was her idea to change their lifestyle.

He made friends in no time, and had no problem getting a job. He was happy. He even got himself a pair of admirers. Girls went nuts for his tattoos and strange haircut. And men too, she thought almost chuckling.

She worked hard, even if her salary was lower than his, she managed to pay half of the rent. There was a point where she was able to join to a dance school.

She knew that maybe it was foolish, but she had always wanted to dance.

So she had started taking lessons.

Between their works, his need to be between upper class people and her new passion for dance, they've grown apart in the last years. Even before she was adopted.

Kuchiki.

That was her name now.

One day, after a successful performance, her first, in a lowly theatre (one which doesn't exist anymore, because it was practically crumbling away) some upper class men approached her.

They wanted to adopt her.

The reason was told to her tree years later. The noble man who had adopted her in his family like his sister, giving her the surname Kuchiki, was indeed her brother-in-law.

And her sister was dead.

However, being a Kuchiki had its vantages. Her brother signed her up for one of the most famous and exclusive dance school in Tokio, known as "the Thirteenth". The headmaster, Ukitake, called Taicho from his students, was a kind, yet sick man. Rukia smiled. It was hard think at him like the young rebel, whose moves had charmed thousand of teenagers, back in the 70s...

Then there was Kaien. Kaien Shiba. When everybody treated her like shit, and kept humiliating her, he defended her. He was the first. Nobody talked to her. Because everybody thought she was there just for her brother's will, and that she was just a rich, talentless, spoiled child.

He was her sempai. He was her mentor. He was her best friend. Her first crush. The one she trusted. The one she was sure won't ever leave her dealing with her own demons alone.

The one she killed.

During the rehearsals of the year-end play, Miyako, Kaien fianceé, was killed. They made it seem like an accident. But everybody knew it was a warning. They didn't want Kaien to perform.

He was so angry and heart broken. But he didn't back down. He asked her to dance instead of Miyako. Rukia had spent hours watching them perform. She could do that. She accepted.

The night of the play, a reflector fell on Kaien. He died, yet his body was breathing.

He would have wanted to die. So, she killed him. She cut off the power. She killed him.

And when Rukia gave at him one last glace, it was like he was thanking her.

It was a year ago, she mused. But her life was so different now. She couldn't remember not feeling so guiltily. She felt damaged. Broken. Unwhole. She wanted to remember happier times, but there wasn't any. That's why she was here. Alone. Drinking. In a sleazy bar. Remembering. Giving herself the chance to be weak. To be sad. To cry.

And that was the real Rukia. Not the one with fakes smile. Not the one who dressed up to go to yet another boring lunch with her brother. Not the tomboy who lived in the street.

That wasn't her.

But sometimes, people have to act. It's for the best.

But not on their birthday.

* * *

"Funeral, hospital or secret lover engagement party?"

Rukia blinked at the harsh, mocking voice. Was he speaking at her? She looked up at the man. _How loud!._Were her first thoughts. He was indeed loud. In everything. His voice, his rude manners and his appearance. His hair were fucking... **orange**! She hadn't seen such strange hair color since Renji.

"Well?" he asked again, with an annoyed expression.

Normally, a woman would have jumped in fear and ran away from a man like him. Punk hair color, rude, unfriendly and probably drunk! He could be a killer, a rapist, a pusher or some crazy pervert. But she wasn't a normal woman. She was Rukia. She grew up between people like that. She had learnt that a thug could be your best friend and a well mannered upper class man, your worst nightmare.

"Neither." she responded, coldly.

He snorted. "Strange, Ice Queen, 'cause these are the most voted reasons why pretty girls like you come to sleazy bars like this."

Rukia frowned, pondering his words. "Is that an insult? Or are you trying to pick me up? If it's the latter, has this line ever worked?"

The man lifted an eyebrow at her attitude. She sure was one of a kind. "Not... yet." He replied. "But you never know..."

She waved at the bartender, asking him another shot. "Oh, but I know. You'll never pick me up with a line like that."

He smirked. "Oh, so you want me to pick you up?"

Rukia almost blushed at that. "Oh, shut up."

Silence settle down for a pair of minutes, and Rukia was glad of that. Then the loud loud man broke it. "You drink like a man." he stated.

"I am a man." Rukia declared, smirking at the man expression. Boy, it was fun.

"Oh." he said, recovering. Then he nodded awkwardly. "Oh." A frown appeared on his forehead. "I guess that's ok."

Rukia smirked, giving at him a sultry look. "So... you still want to pick me up?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. He opened his mouth, before closing it again. His neck and ears were red from embarrassment and he was trying hard to look at her, but he just couldn't. He frowned, then shrugged. "Maybe after another few of this." he said, pointing at his now empty glass.

"So... Funeral, Hospital or secret lover's engangement party?" she asked this time.

He chuckled. "Hospital. Funeral tomorrow."

She felt sorry for the man. But she's never been the comforting one. She wasn't empathic or something like that.

"Family or friend?" she asked again.

"Neither. Patient." he replied.

She frowned. "You're a doctor?"

"Still in my internship. What's in your life?" he asked.

She lowered her gaze. What could she answer? _I'm an unsuccessful dancer who can't dance anymore? _she almost snorted at herself. "I danced. Was it your first patient's death?"

"No, but he was just a kid. Barely walking. What do you mean by "danced"? Why the past?"

"'cause I don't dance anymore, dude!" she replied with a "doh" expression he didn't believe her face was able to summon. She seemed like the classy type. But then... that expression. She was a peculiar sight. She was very peculiar.

He scraped his light beard. "My mother made me take lessons. I can waltz."

She wanted to cry out in frustration at that. He could waltz. Who cared? He knew nothing about dancing. It was her life, her everything. The only thing which had kept her sane, alive. She had put all herself in those notes. Now, she had nothing. And he could waltz... "Yeah, right." she snorted annoyed.

He frowned, changing abruptly his demeanor. His mother was a touchy matter, and thinking about her and her death had always made him upset. "Listen..." he started calm, "I don't know why are you here. A girl like you shouldn't spend the night in places like this. I'm not blind. You're rich, classy... hell, you could be a noble or something like that. But you are here. So, brat, go home and stop making your parents worrying. Grow up. Nobody likes spoiled brats."

Her shoulders were suddenly tense and she lowered her gaze. If it was any other day, she would have feigned indifference and go on with her life. If it was any other day, she would have come up with a witty comeback. Smart and classy.

But it wasn't any other day.

It was her birthday. She was at her weakest. She promised herself long time ago, when she found out that there would never be cakes and candlelights for her, that on her birthday she would have never lied at herself, or act in front of the others.

The man stood up. "Call a cab or need a lift?"

A bitter smile touched her feature. And the man felt guilty. Maybe he has been too hard, he thought at himself. Now she looked older, somehow. And suddenly he felt scared. Like a little child.

"I'm a spoiled brat, ne?" she asked, with the same bitter smile. "How old were you when your mother made you take lessons?"

"Ano... seven... why? What? Listen, I'm sorr-" he was cut off.

"Have you ever thought about the other seven years old?" he scraped the back of his neck, not really knowing what to say. "Have you ever thought about the ones who couldn't take dance lessons? Or any other lesson? The ones without a house and a mother?" She was... glacial.

"I..."

"No, of course no. But then, we're the spoiled brats. Just because we try to _act_ like we belong here. Like we were someone else. Someone like you. With two parents, a brother, a sister and a family dog." she snorted. "But we're not. So on our fucking birthday, we try to lay back. To stop being _you_, and be just us. But then, a punk looking doctor has better ideas. Just leave me alone. And don't try to apologize."

* * *

She stomped out, everything about her kept saying "**DANGER**: DO NOT TOUCH" and he thought at how could he have been so naive to not notice that sooner.

"Hey!" he called out, following her outside. "I'm sorry." he said. "I really am." she glared at him and he thanked whichever God he was still alive because that glare could kill for sure. "I'm just stressed. I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

"Just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry. Let me help you and give you a lift. And if you ever need an home, my pops is always looking for a foster child, so..."

She almost laughed. "Foster child? I'm 23, for kami sake!"

"23? You sure?" he was incredulous.

She snorted again. This boy was fucking... unnerving! And so annoying. And loud! "I know my age, you punk."

"But... uhm... ok. So..." He mumbled.

"Let me get it right. You thought I was some kind of Lolita girl who wanted to be picked up by a man twice her age??!" She yelled.

"Well... you sure seem-"

"Don't. Just stop talking. You're making angrier with each word." She cut him off, raising her hands in front of her, preventing him to say anything else.

"It's not my fault you're such a midget!" he blurted out.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him down, almost at 90 degrees, then she hit him, hard. What a punch. He could swear he heard a crack.

"Why the fuck did you do that, yo bit-" he shut up as soon as he saw her. Her hold on his shirt firm, her features were the hardest he's even seen on a woman's face, her eyes were big and captivating. Violet. What a color for someones eye color... but they fitted her perfectly. And her gaze. So intense and determinate. So angry and human. He could almost see all her struggles. But that look... it said that whoever she was, she was alive and kicking. And oh, if she doesn't kick asses on regular bases. He was mesmerized.

She broke the eye contact and when their gazes met again, he could see tears in her eyes. His hand touched her cheek and he felt her body tensing at his touch. Such a peculiar girl. "What..."

He took the hand that was clinging at his shit, preventing her to run away. "Give me a chance, dancer."

"It is not "dancer". " she replied, with a smirk. "It is Kuchiki Rukia."

"I see..." he replied, getting closer and putting her hand on his heart. "I'm Kurosaki Ichigo."

She gave him a little smile, her hand still on his hearth, and he felt like she was piercing him. _I'm fucked, _he thought.

"I'll just take my car." she finally said. "See you, Strawberry."

And while she was working toward her car, she thought that maybe she gave him more than a chance. But maybe, just maybe, she didn't care.

"Ohi!" she heard him yelling. "Happy birthday, Rukia!"

* * *

**A year later...**

"Why did you come along?" she asked with fake annoyance.

"Well... why did _you_ come here?" he retorted.

"_That_ doesn't mean a thing. I can be on my own, you know?" she replied, this time really pissed off.

"Like hell! I'm not leaving you... here!" He folded his arms and raised his chin, trying to get an appearance of authority.

She lifted an eyebrow, almost challenging him. "Ah, you're not?"

"I don't like knowing you here. Alone." he murmured.

"And yet," she retorted "here you met me."

"Oh, I remember that." he conceded.

"We came here everyday for more than a month, before we met at the fundraiser." she continued.

"I remember this, too..." he nodded.

"Then why can't I be here, now?" she asked.

"Because we stopped coming here for a good reason." he stated, exasperated.

"Oh, yep, you met nii-sama and you was sure he was some sort of stalker." she told him laughing.

"He was the onewho said to me he had someone watching on me!" Ichigo cried out.

"He just said he'll keep an eye on you, in a perfect brotherly way!" she replied, laughing harder.

"In a perfect brotherly way? Have you gone nuts? We're still talking about Byakuya, right?" he asked in disbelief.

Rukia giggled. Yes, she giggled. Ichigo felt a strange sense of calm and serenity overcoming him. It was so rare. Hear she laugh. For real. And giggle the young girl she never had the chance to be. "Don't be rude to nii-sama!" she said, expecting the same answer _I'm not rude to him! _But Ichigo said nothing. He kept looking at her, witha stupid smile. "What?" She asked him, the mirth almost ceased.

"You're beautiful." And beautiful she was. He thought about all the times he found himself mesmerized by her. He remembered the first time he saw her dance. So graceful, so sexy, her petite body seemed a butterfly caught in the flames. And then her gaze met his, telling him she was doing it for him, only for him. And when she stopped, a lock of hair on her forehead, her hair messy, slighty sweaty, she smiled at him. Her soul at peace and satisfied. Just like after sex. That expression of pure love and devotion. Or like when she had to learn a move she had problems with. She had that determined expression. Strong and restless and so alive. The one which made him fall for her.

She laughed again. "Have you forgotten that the first time we slept together you started shouting "oh, so you're a girl after all!"?"

He had to smile at that. "You did say to me you were a man, remember? I... didn't think you would ever lie to a stranger!" he said with a mocking hurt expression.

"Ah, about that, if I reckon right, you said that after a pair of Jack, you would have slept with me anyway." she stated smirking.

"With a pair of Jack, I could go and fuck Renji!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm so going to tell him that!" she replied grinning.

"Don't you dare, woman!" he yelled. "He would never offer me drinks again!"

She nodded. "Alright... I'm just doing this because he could make you drink on purpose."

He frowned. "Renji has hots for me?"

"Dunno, but I'm not gonna put my marriage at risk."

The two of them grinned like two idiots. Here they were, a year had passed, and in twelve months, they had finally found the peace they were looking for, the burning blaze only lovers can summon, the comfortable warm only friends can give, the silent complicity between partners and the complete, absolute understanding and devotion that you look for during all your life, and you finally find in your soul mate's eyes.

"It would be difficult explain at this little one why he has two fathers..." the orange haired said, patting and caressing lightly her stomach.

She tookhis hands between her, then she brought them between their faces, seeking for full attention, and getting it. When she was sure he was looking her in the eyes, she smiled sweetly. "If you sleep with Renji, don't you dare coming home, or I'll make sure I'll be widow." He gulped. "Now kiss me goodbye and go home."

He grinned, before kissing her, summoning all his love for her, his lust, his need. He felt her melt in his arms. He deepened the kiss, her arms sneaked aroung his neck, bringing him closer to her. Ichigo's hands were on her hip, and soon started going higher, under her shirt, touching her soft skin and gaining a moan or two.

Ichigodid go home. But not alone.

That night, his wife was going to have a hell of a birthday. And he won't hear complaints.


End file.
